


Timeless Son of None

by samiraxlula



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Canon Child Death, Dark Bruce Wayne, Gen, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd-centric, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Supernatural Elements, first attempt at writing a dark!fic, it's noticeable with how bad it is...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2020-09-27 13:44:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samiraxlula/pseuds/samiraxlula
Summary: Jason wakes up in his old bedroom in the manor with an oddly caring Bruce by his bedside even though he knows for a fact they were at each others’ throats the last time they met. Nursing injuries though not knowing how and where they came from, confusion seems to be his common feeling as he comes to realize that something about the whole scenario is very, very wrong.





	1. Torn Feathers

Jason remembers being in high-school. And while he couldn’t remember who it was exactly, he figures it must have been one of his teachers who asked him what his plans were for the future. He remembered then going into a spiel about all the awesome stuff he wanted to do and which schools he was interested in and how he was definitely going to study literature.

Talia would ask him the same question some years later, post-funeral and bathetic return, pressing a gauze pad against his crimson-stained neck. However, all he did then was stare blankly into that future while sitting deathly silent as the steam from the tea in front of him drifted upwards.

“Urgh…” Jason groaned, trying to fight his way to a clearer consciousness and re-establish his bearings when a large, warm hand placed itself on his head, stroking his dark curls very carefully, almost as if he were fragile and fleeting.

“Don’t try to sit up, you’ll only end up pulling your stitches.”

Frowning deeply, slowly focusing reflective green eyes opened to see a familiar but certainly not pleased to be seeing face. “...’ruce.” Jason glared sharply before shutting his eyes again and smacking the hand away, though it was a weak gesture as exhaustiveness clung to him.

“Good morning, Jay.”

He could _hear_ the tug of a smile, unbothered by being denied contact. Now, that was weird enough for Jason to reopen his eyes suspiciously to see the now clear image of a concerned though kind-looking Bruce sitting down in an armchair next to his bedside.

His old bedside. In his old bedroom. Not a thing in it different from the last time he had slept in it at fifteen. Even his school textbooks were out and open on his desk and his school bag hung on the back of the chair before it.

His chest was bandaged, and shirtless, half-dressed in a pair of surprisingly comfy sweatpants that were slightly large enough to know that they were Bruce’s.

“You seem to have had a rough patrol last night.” Bruce picked up his slackened hand gently to hold between two of his own.

Blinking twice at how weird Bruce was being then and the fact that he was never this touchy-feely since...since Jason was a kid.

“Nice to know that my shrine-room looks about the same. That and you’re still weird as ever.” Jason muttered underneath his breath, deflecting his questioning statement but still earning a breathy, agreeing laugh from Bruce that made him feel happy in that naive twelve-year-old way that just wanted to make his dad laugh at his dumb jokes.

But Jason was older now and the picture just felt wrong to him. That and the fact that his head hurt in a sort of background drilling way that he attempted to ignore. He was certain that the last time they saw each other they had been at each other’s throats, so why…?

“B?”

“Hm?” Bruce gave him a tired, but happy-to-see-him smile which made Jason fluster for a moment before looking away from him, chalking it up to his imagination. That or his mental health was failing him again.

He couldn’t remember when he and Bruce had made up enough to have him looking at him like that again. Did he have a blank in his memories?_ Ignore it_. When did-- _It’s not important._

“Uhh...what happened exactly? And why is my chest bandaged?”

“You sustained an isolated stab wound to the chest,” Bruce explained with a deep frown while Jason noted that he was still holding his own hand in his two. “Thankfully, it just narrowly missed your heart but still resulted in one of your lungs collapsing. You were unconscious when I found you and throughout the emergency surgery.”

“Oh,” Jason nodded, feeling dumb for some odd reason before he looked around the room, spotting one of his old photographs he had kept on his side-table of a thirteen-year-old him, Bruce, Dick and Alfred playing monopoly in the library.

“Where’s Alfie? Or anyone else for that matter?” He propped himself up a bit higher on his pillows, slowly so as to not hurt his already aching ribs.

Tim should be around someplace, shouldn’t he? Along with Damian and his gaggle of animals friends. Normally he’d be able to hear them fighting out in the hall or Damian setting Titus or Jerry on one of them but there was only silence all through the old, and startling empty-sounding manor.

“Jason, do you remember who had stabbed you?” Bruce switched the subject just as bluntly as he had himself done just a minute ago, making Jason stumble in his answer, both in question of Bruce and his own inability to remember the specifics of how he had gained his injury.

“N-no. I don’t.” He frowned at his own answer, brows furrowed in such a stubbornly serious way that Bruce seemed to instinctively ruffle his hair and relax into another small smile.

“Never mind then. I’ll do some investigating into it. You get some rest.” Rising to a stand, Bruce paused for a minute, looking at Jason laying on the bed with a confused expression written across his boy’s features, the top of the ‘Y’ shaped scar visible from above his bandages.

“Don’t worry about it, Jaylad.” Bruce smiled again before leaving, closing the door with a soft click behind him.

Watching the door in complete confusion as to everything that had transpired in not even over five minutes, the revenant gave up trying to figure it out, settling instead on closing his eyes as a dizzying wave of pain overtook him, settling back lower on his pillows as sleep washed over.


	2. A Foreboding Scratch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having met a weirdly clingy Bruce in a surprisingly rosy world, Jason becomes suspicious of him not letting him out of his sight...or in the Batcave for that matter. And the small matter of his memories.

Their fight started like it always did. Low, snide tones that elevate into cutting and cruel shouts that always leave them blaming and accusing each other of things they later regretted. Or didn't. It felt almost choreographed at this point, a routine they were both so used to.

It's almost funny thinking back on how easy it used to be to talk to each other; before Ethiopia and the murder of a child; back was Bruce was 'Dad,' and Jason was 'Jay.' Now it was just 'Bruce,' and 'Hood.'

Jason's eyes exuded an animosity that was like acid - burning and potent, taking on that inhumanly vibrant green shade whenever he had the urge to kill whoever was in front of him, the burning anger pumping through his bloodstream as Batman had started his usual irritatingly repetitive lecture about how 'they didn't deserve to die, Hood!"

Once, back when he was a small, underweight bird and the fighting in the family used to be reserved between Dick and Bruce, he had a conversation with Bruce after Dick had stormed off back to the Titans. "We aren't going to be like that when I get older, are we?" he had asked from where he was laying on the floor, flipping through the latest novel he had picked up.

Bruce had blinked, surprised for a moment at the boy who didn't even look up after asking before settling into a tired smile and bending down from the couch to ruffle his inky curls. "No. I won't let us get like that."

"Good." Jason had smiled, eyes bright and blue.

Their exchanges, however, had gotten bad enough that Jason had stormed out of the city in his usual explosive manner, and hadn't returned to Gotham for another nine months after the event. When he had returned, he ended up getting stabbed and waking up to a weirdly clingy Bruce who didn't look at him like he was a psychotic murderer walking around in his precious dead son's skin anymore.

Blinking slowly awake as the room slowly faded into Jason's awareness, he took slow and purposefully slow breaths before sitting up, his head feeling both numb and floaty in a way that he knew only the heavy drugs they kept in the cave could achieve.

Drugs. Cave. Back in Gotham. _Fuck_.

Startling in a more alert state, his brows scrunched together as he tried to puzzle out whether or not he had dreamed up that whole weird encounter last night with Bruce. But considering he was in his old room at the manor, it probably wasn't.

He wondered if the other were also at ho— the manor. But considering how rowdy the bat-bunch normally was despite being trained otherwise, he couldn't hear any sign of life outside his door, making him swing his legs over the side of the bed.

The usual steady although slower than _normal_ beat of his heart seemed irregular, which caused the former bird to feel sick, stumbling backwards as he stood up, steadying himself by grabbing ahold of the side table for a moment before rearranging his balance.

Jason's thoughts started to accelerate inside his head as he tried to gather the why's and how's of his being here, forcing down any panic with rational recollection and attempted deduction.

_First things first, I should figure out what's going on here exactly…_ his eyesight travelled towards the door on the side of the room, which he slowly opened and poked his head out of, uneager to bump into any bats or birds if they were even here. Once he saw no one within the immediate vicinity, he snuck down the unusually exhausting long flight of stairs.

In the background of the main floor, he could hear someone turning on the kitchen sink tap and the clangs of shifting pots and pans. Content with the noise as it meant that Bruce was at least somewhat occupied, Jason crept out into the hall and slipped quietly inside the study, feeling incredibly cold for no real reason at that moment, making him wish he had brought the blanket from his room as the cave was going to be even colder than this if he was chilled now.

Rubbing his arms, he moved around the study at a slower pace than normal, taking care to ensure his lungs were expanding fully. Bruce really wasn't lying about the collapsed lung, he groaned internally as he realised he'd be stuck on bed rest for a whole week or two, especially if Leslie and Alfred were brought in with their disapproving looks.

Standing in front of the grandfather clock, he opened the glass cover to turn the hands before he tensed and whirled around to find an imposing shadow looming over him.

“_Shi-_!” Jason jumped back in surprise, making him wince and press a hand to his ribcage from the sudden, jerky movement.

“Geez…” he rubbed the back of his head, somewhat wound-up. “I hate it when you do that.”

Bruce’s expression doesn’t even shift at that and frankly, it’s rather intimidating in it own ‘disappointed-dad’ sort of way. “You should be in bed. Resting.” His voice almost turns into a growl with how stern it sounds, but it doesn't. It's kinder.

“Relax, old man." Jason rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "I was going to check the computer downstairs to see if it could help jog my memory.”

Noting Bruce’s raised eyebrow he felt as though he had to quickly add, “about my injury,” though he wasn’t sure why he needed to impress upon that. Or why he thought that he shouldn’t mention anything to Bruce about not remembering a lot more than just how he got his wound and the date.

“I won’t take too long.” Jason turned back around again to turn the hands of the clock before he felt Bruce’s hand on his arm, holding him back firmly.

“Lunch first. You're still on a strict recovery plan, chum.”

“I think I'll choose to refuse treatment then.” He clipped.

But something in Bruce’s gaze made him back down uncomfortably with only a shrug, even though he only had on that disappointed but softer look he saw more often when he was younger, following him slowly out of the study. However, just as he was about to close the door behind him, he could have sworn that something was scratching at the cave’s entrance from behind the grandfather clock.

Pausing for a moment and staring at the clock with a tilted head, he didn't hear it again for a second time, making him puzzle over whether or not he had actually heard something.

“Jason, is macaroni and cheese fine?” Bruce called back from up ahead, making Jason shake his head and wonder if he had also been hit on the head or something.

“Yeah... but don’t even dream of touching that stove yourself! You'll burn the manor down!” He hollered back, closing the study door on his suspicions.


	3. In the Birdcage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though worried about his memory loss, Bruce makes an effort to spend more time with Jason while he recovers by watching a movie and reminiscing over the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sink meh! But I musn't lie, as a filler chapter this may just be indeed. I watched the Scarlet Pimpernel yesterday and wrote a chapter just because I enjoyed it so much, haha.

“So...what’s the deal with all this?”

Jason took on a baffled tone as he noticed a light coming from the theatre room and flooding into the hall later that evening and finding Bruce setting up the projector.

He was still walking around Bruce on guard, confused as to why on Earth he was treating him better than he had ever before since he came back. To be honest, it was creeping him out with how much the old man was acting like he had before Jason died. Did he decide to live in some sort of denial state since the nine months he had seen him last?

“Healing.” Bruce spoke with only as many words as he needed, a habit which irritated a great deal many people beyond just Jason.

“Alright then, Mr caveman.” The former Robin flopped onto the couch in the room, raising an eyebrow at the older man critically as the title card came on for the 1982 version of the Scarlet Pimpernel. “I never really took cinematic therapy seriously, though.”

“It’s proved effective to varying degrees and cases.”

“Are we really watching the Scarlet Pimpernel for therapy reasons right now?”

“No.” Bruce left it at that as he sat down next to him on the couch, although leaving about two hands spaces and passed a bowl of buttered popcorn over from the side table.

Narrowing his green eyes suspiciously at Bruce first and then the bowl in his hands as if suspecting something from them both, he shrugged indifferently after a minute before settling into a more comfortable position.

*

_"I require a favour," The smooth voice of the daughter of the Demon's Head spoke as she bade Jason entry into her office._

_He had been globe-trotting for the nine months he had been gone from Gotham, taking mercenary jobs here and there between museum visits and crossing off his list of all the famous libraries he had been wanting to visit since he saw a documentary about them with Bruce when he was 13. Now, he was back in Nanda Parbat, having been called by Talia, who he always answered._

_Normally they would just meet at a cafe or restaurant in some neutral country and catch up at a leisurely pace as if they were a mother and son who hadn't seen one another for a while before getting down to any business but whatever the business of the month was, it was important enough for Talia to require meeting at the actual League stronghold._

_"What's up, Tals?"_

_Ignoring his colloquial speech mannerisms, which she would normally correct, the sharp-eyed beauty seemed to be bothered by something, the shine of her sharpened swords reflecting from the wall behind her._

_"As you know, your father's city is an area in which the League has not been able to gain a foothold in,"_

_"One, he's not my father. Not anymore. Two, I know what you're going to say and I'm not going back to Gotham. Not even for you." Jason interjected, earning him a sharper look than normal._

_"Just as I would not send you there on my behalf for any insignificant reason." At that Talia pursed her lips slightly. "However, there is an item that a rogue operative of ours has stolen and taken out of the compound. Her last known whereabouts led to Gotham city."_

_"And this item is...?"_

_"----"_

*

Snapping his head up from where it had started to drift down and doze off, Jason blinked away his grogginess and rolled his shoulders back, turning his attention back to Sir Percival Blakeney mock limp cravats and wonder why he was so exhausted these days.

As he fought back a yawn, he felt Bruce’s gaze on him, almost as if he was analyzing him or trying to decipher the ‘Jason Code,’ if there even was one. He used to do that quite a bit when he was younger too, back when Jason had just come to live at the manor and Bruce was learning to be careful of not hovering and giving Jason ‘some time and space to adjust.’

"What now?" Jason felt like rolling his eyes but refrained from doing so.

"--reminded me of when you first came to the Manor." Bruce seemed to be speaking clearly enough but exhaustion was making Jason zone in and out of focus.

"You didn't trust me then either."

Losing to the yawn, Jason stretched his arms out in front of him. "I steal three of your tires with the intent of four and you decide to adopt me. I didn't understand you at all, not that anyone could blame me for that. You're a certified weirdo."

Bruce allowed a quirk of his mouth upwards in agreeance as they settled back into a comfortable silence for the rest of the movie.

*

By the time the credits rolled, Jason found himself lulled enough to have fallen asleep for a second time without realizing it, snapping awake with a slight startle, lifting his head from Bruce’s shoulder, who had the decency not to mention the fact although he did appear more pleased than usual by the fact. It wasn’t something Jason could remember the last time happening. His presence making Bruce happy, that is.

Wiping his mouth quickly with the back of his hand and making a sort of embarrassed expression, he shifted off and slightly away from his adoptive father before wincing and rubbing his leg.

Noticing that the place he rubbed against on his grey sweatpants looked faintly pink, Jason rolled up his pant leg to see long, angry red scratch marks on his skin that were trickling blood.

Looking back up at Bruce with bewildered wide eyes, the man didn’t seem to notice a thing odd as he continued to watch the movie unbothered, the reflection of the film cast in his blank eyes.


	4. Father Knows Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remembering why he had even bothered coming back to Gotham in the first place and what Talia had sent him to retrieve, Jason uncovers a startling fact about the Manor and its occupants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning on having this out earlier, but it just wasn't really working for me in terms of the writing. I'm still not happy with how it reads out but oh, well.

  
The grey light from the cloudy day came peaking into the hallway from the long, mullioned windows as Jason wandered aimlessly through the Manor, pushing open doors at random.

It felt odd being on his own for once. This was his third day (fourth, including his time unconscious) being back in Gotham and Bruce hadn't left his side for most of it. He was suspicious that he didn't leave even while he slept, but he chose not to think about that. He always knew Bruce was a weirdo, but some things still creeped him out when it came to the orphan billionaire.

The only reason he was wandering alone at the moment was that Bruce had gone down into the cave straight after the movie ended, excusing himself abruptly and hadn't returned upstairs yet, despite it being noon the next day. Jason found himself both too tired to follow, exhaustion pressing on him for a concerningly unknown reason, and the fact that Bruce's eyes had freaked him out after he had found the scratches on his leg.

While the whole affair of his being here, from finding no one else around, to the scratches and Bruce's insistence on him not being allowed down in the cave... well, alright, it hadn't been so much Bruce insisting that he wasn't allowed in the cave but rather that he always popped up whenever Jason had tried and re-directed him to a different location, citing his weak lungs and need to rest. But nonetheless, it bothered him for reasons beyond simply being in the home he was raised in and reminding him of everything he once had and no longer did.

Bruce seemed to magically forget (or forgive?) the fact that Jason had tried to kill him _again_ the last time they saw each other; though it was with less enthusiasm compared to the other times he attempted and seemed to have become some sort of hovering caretaker these days.

Jason wasn’t sure whether to feel nostalgic or irritated over this fact though, remembering how much of a helicopter parent Bruce had been before he died, something Jason hadn’t really minded then as it eased his mind somewhat not to be the one fussing over the adult for once. Even though Bruce could go a bit overboard at times with his diet plans for healthy weight gain and not letting him join a team as Dick had, he always knew it was Bruce’s weird way of showing he cared.

As the former bird went from wing to wing of the estate, it struck him that he hadn’t noticed it before, but the rooms and halls all had a light covering of dust, which stuck to his finger as he ran it across a lamp. A place in which Alfred Pennyworth _existed_ was _dusty_.

“Inconceivable.” Jason shook his head, blinking at the grey particles on his pointing finger. There was no way in any Earth, time or reality where Alfred would allow such a thing but that was the question. Where was Alfred? Or anyone else?

It seemed like it was just Bruce here, but that didn’t make any sense. The others were all there before he had left Gotham, and had mostly all witnessed their last explosive argument, not a word opposing Bruce. His irritated feeling came back and found himself restless.

Rubbing his arms, it felt as though he had scratch marks all over, even on his face and neck, although he knew for certain that the only visible ones were on his legs.

He felt dizzy again. Having a collapsed lung did not do that to him, he knew from experience. Although he never saw it happen, he also knew that he was being given drugs, recognizing the feeling of them since Bruce used to spend hours persuading him to take them as a kid since he was always adamant about no needles, even when he desperately needed them. When was Bruce giving him them?

Growing increasingly disturbed, he felt himself becoming dizzier and his vision narrowing as he ran from bedroom to bedroom of the other Robins. Dick’s looked like it hadn’t been touched in years, stuffy like it hadn’t been aired in a while either, while Tim’s and Damian’s were empty. Completely empty. Like they had never been here.

*

_"Sikin Al-Zaman," Jason mumbled aloud to himself, as he reviewed the files Talia had given him on the flight back to Gotham she had chartered for him. He had lasted nine months without even looking back and now his plans of never returning to the city of his birth were ruined because he owed a favour._

_Okay, even if he didn't owe her a few hundred times over, he'd probably still help Talia out. Say what you will about her, but she was one of the only people there for him during the most difficult four years of his life and he wasn't someone who forgot things like that easily._

_But on a more serious note, whoever had named this rather ugly dagger had no creative sense by calling it the 'Time Knife.'_

_It did pretty much what it sounded like, tearing open space and creating entryways into other...' times,' sometimes alternate, sometimes just the simple and plain past or future. A fickle thing really, and looked more troublesome than Jason cared for. But alas; he'd woefully mourn in his thoughts; Talia needed it returned without a single delay and that was what he promised to do._

_Closing the files with one hand and laying them in his lap, he turned his head to watch the pitch-black window start to show tiny blinking lights from the night-waking city below._

_Home, sweet, home, huh?_

*

Measured steps came up the stairs, the sound of a hand brushing lightly against the bannister trailed slightly behind as they came down the hall and turned to find the dark-haired boy collapsed and slumped against the wall, hands shaking violently.

Their head tilted to the side slowly as they observed for a moment before kneeling down next to him slowly, carefully and in a very controlled movement.

"Jaylad?" Bruce's expression looked extremely concerned, his brows knit in worry. As he came closer, the older man realized that Jason was mumbling incoherently but otherwise seemed to be disassociating at that moment, his eyes unregistering as Bruce waved a hand in front of his face.

As soon as it came on, the worried look drops into an apathetic, blank one. Lifting Jason up to lean against him, he brings him back to his bedroom, settling him down on the bed. Taking a needle out of a clear bag, he rolls up his sleeve and injects it smoothly into Jason's arm.

Just then, as his eyes had started to close, Jason snapped awake, grabbing Bruce's arm in a mixture of fury and frenzy. "Where's the knife, Bruce? Where's the knife?" Before his blue-green eyes roll back and falls into a limp form again, asleep.

Bruce watches him for a few minutes, appearing indifferent as he places his hand on Jason's, laying two fingers on his wrist, keeping the pulse.

"I'll be taking care of it now, chum. Not to worry."

Turning his head to face the figure in the doorway who had followed him upstairs, he waved them off.

"Go back to the cave. We wouldn't want him to meet you just yet."


	5. Know Thy Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason uncovers a shocking truth about the secret being kept in the cave.

_The dagger._

He needed to find the dagger. Talia needed it. Time-altering. Dangerous. Something was on his face. Making a move to pull it off, he found it only to be firmly placed back on and held in place. Jason’s eyes snapped open then for what felt like the tenth time waking up like this, trying to push the hand off and sit up before wheezing loudly and finding himself struggling to breathe.

Looking upwards, he found Bruce standing over him, holding in place what he now recognized as an oxygen mask. Visibly relaxing himself, Bruce took note and moved back, letting the mask rest over his mouth and nose on its own.

“Congratulations.” Bruce seemed unimpressed. “You collapsed and caused blunt trauma to your _healing_ lung, causing you to relapse in your symptoms. I had to remove air from the pleural cavity with a needle and syringe.”

Jason turned his head to note the needle in a clear plastic sheath by the side-table before narrowing his eyes back to Bruce. There was no question there, this was Bruce Wayne, but what timeline had he stumbled into to?

It wasn’t anything like a possible future since while this Bruce recognized Jason as his son, Dick seemed to have lived here at some point, as well as Alfred, Timothy, Damian, Cassandra and all the others who came after him though...they did not seem to be a part of this timeline, or more specifically, a part of the bat-family. Hence, making this an alternate time.

The knife obviously had a part to play in his time-hopping, making the only issue finding it again. Wondering briefly if he should interrogate this Bruce about it, trust in him long gone, Jason decided against it as he couldn’t be sure of anything when it came to a Bruce he was already suspicious of for multiple reasons.

If he had been the one to find him on this Earth, wouldn’t he have found the knife, which should have been sticking out of his chest? He still wasn’t certain if this Bruce knew he wasn’t from this particular earth since the Jason of this Earth could still be around. Bruce didn’t exactly react to seeing him as if he had been dead for years and had thought that he had a “bad patrol,” that day when he had woken from the surgery.

“That wasn’t the only needle you put in me, was it?” Jason didn’t even bother hiding his distrust. This Bruce had shown caring that his Bruce never exhibited since he came back from the dead, but he had a bad feeling about him.

Other Bruce raised an eyebrow at him with mild concern. “It wasn’t. I also gave you a sedative injection.”

“Oh, uh...okay.” Now it was Jason’s turn to raise both his eyebrows. He didn’t expect to actually get an honest answer out of him. His Bruce probably would have shut him down and then thrown him straight into Arkham, citing delirium or something to add onto his list of mental concerns.

“I meant it when I told you to rest.” Bruce packed up the medkit he had beside him, clicking the clasps closed with simultaneous snaps. “You’ll cause more damage to your lungs than necessary.”

Standing up, he reached out a hand only to stop himself, as if he had wanted to run his hand through Jason’s hair but stopped himself for an unknown reason. “I’ll be back.” He gave as parting words before leaving the room. Had he been wearing his cape then, Jason snorted, he would have heard a swish.

Letting the steps go down the hall and giving time for them to head for his study where he had kept that particular medical kit, Jason threw back his sheets and swung his legs over the side. He was getting to the cave and leaving. Now.

*

Shivering as he walked down the cold, stone steps descending into the Batcave, Jason immediately headed towards the evidence lock-up. He had to work quickly to get out of here before this Bruce took note of his location. And if there had been a rather unusual ancient dagger sticking out of one of them, he knew that Bruce would have kept it to analyze.

Punching in his code combination, which he had to try a few times to remember, he was grateful that Bruce was sentimental enough to never remove Jason’s old Robin passwords. Seems like this earth’s Jason was also a fan of Jane Austen’s.

Scouring through the obsessively catalogued items, his eyes lit up upon finding what he had been looking for. The very dagger that dragged him back to this God-forsaken city and caused all this trouble.

Taking it very carefully from the clear, labelled zip-lock, his mind went blank then. He knew he had to take it and leave, but then what would he do with it? He cursed Talia for not giving him more information on the loathsome thing.

Maybe Bruce had realized something off about the readings on the dagger when it went through the routine scans, but he couldn’t risk going back up and flat out asking him. The only solid fact he had was that he knew he had to leave and fast.

Though his paranoia never usually failed him, he brushed it off for so long this time around since...since this Bruce reminded him so much of how his Bruce used to be. Before he had died. But his Bruce used to always talk about not letting his emotions cloud his judgement. Would’ve done him some good to listen to that piece of advice sometimes.

The scratching sound was heard again, though this time not as some faint echo behind walls or clocks, this time it was literally right behind him, making him whirl around only to be grabbed by the ankles and pulled down onto his back with a resounding slam of his head that left his vision swimming, the small pair of hands dragging him from the lock-up through the cave.

Lifting his head, his heart nearly stopped upon seeing a screeching small figure with dark curls, an unnaturally pale white face with visible burns in a torn and crudely stitched up Robin suit, his head dented horrifyingly inwards on the side as if something had bashed it in. Though if it had, an injury like that would have undoubtedly killed it.

“Crow! Crow!” The little thing screeched as Jason struggled but found himself unable to escape from the thing’s grip.

“Thank you for finding him for me, chum.” The deeper reverberation of creepy Bruce’s voice entered the cave and ruffled the zombie creature’s curls fondly as it let go of Jason to hug Bruce’s leg tightly.

“B?” Was all Jason could get out from his position on the ground beneath him as the warm smile turned into a horrifying sharp grin, all teeth and terrifyingly kind eyes.

“I thought I had asked you not to go down into the cave, Jaylad.” Creepy Bruce used his nickname in that affectionate manner that now only made his skin crawl.

“Because I’d discover what? The dagger or your fucking zombie Robin?”

Bruce frowned at that, a bit of that Batman darkness present in his expression. “He is not a ‘zombie’ and I won’t have you referring to yourself as that.”

“..._Myself?_” Jason echoed, horror now showing in his green eyes as he looked back at the cackling or shrieking child attached to Bruce’s leg. At the similar bangs that curled together and the 5'4" height with those dead green eyes turning to look back at him directly, grinning just as widely as his father.

“Wh--what have you _done_?”

“What I had to.” Came the grim reply as the zombie Robin detached himself from his leg and Bruce knelt down next to Jason, who had propped himself up from behind on his forearms.

“I resurrected you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it may look like it, but this isn't a "Batman who Laughs" fanfiction. Though I did take some inspiration in for Zombie!Jay, as I love the theory that the Jokerized Robins were Jasons of various dark earths, citing the whole "Crow-Bar" thing. But my Bruce isn't based on the Dark Metal version. I took him more from a number of other 'Bruce's-who-went-insane,' comic moments like Earth 51 Bruce, Batman: Venom, BvS, any form of Bruce mourning or being broken, all that great content that was really single panels or short stories, but added up, they made a pretty cool idea for a story. This is not a TBWL story.
> 
> "𝘐𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦--𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘴--𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳--𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘬." [Legends of the Dark Knight #16]


	6. Bringing Back the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce explains. Jason reacts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘴. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬. 𝘖𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵."
> 
> I don't believe I've mentioned it yet but the dagger in the story is an actual artefact in DC lore. It appeared in Booster Gold Vol 2 #11and some following issues and had been originally kept in the Gotham Museum of Antiquities before being stolen by Killer Moth (and then again by Booster). It basically opens portals to other times, mostly by its own doing, but it can be controlled.
> 
> Also, today's my 18th birthday! ^-^

The sound of the explosion kept replaying in his mind over and over and over again, though the event had transpired near over five months ago now. He could feel the blast of hot air against his skin as he raced towards the warehouse anyway, shouting for his son to no avail.

Though he now sat in the cool, dark study of the manor, nursing a glass of bourbon in one hand and his head in the other, his breath still stopped for a moment even thinking about when he threw the girder to discover Jason’s beaten and broken body underneath the rubble.

Just like how his hand twitched when he thought about holding Jason’s head underneath his chin as rigor mortis set in even while he was cradling the boy and how his eyes burned from the smoke and ash after he pulled back his cowl and let himself break into ugly sobs. One never forgot the moment in which their child's heart stopped but their own kept beating.

Something about that just broke something in Bruce then. Something he couldn’t quite explain but word on the street went that the ‘Bat had snapped.’ Maybe he had. Or maybe he was just finally done with it all and decided to end it. _All of it._

Fingers tightened around the now-empty glass as the knight let his head drop back, staring at the ceiling blankly. He thought of refilling it but the bottle on the side table was finished as well and didn’t care to get up to fetch another.

While he wasn’t in the habit of drinking as it conflicted with keeping his body at its peak physical state, he had picked it up the day they buried Jason, going down into the centuries of keeping wine cellar and slowly making his way through it.

He wished he could have called Alfred to see if they had another, but he had left two months ago back to England. Although he had said it was a vacation, Bruce knew that it was, in reality, his way of escaping watching his charge become someone he couldn’t recognize. Someone irrational and obsessed with bringing a dead child back.

But he couldn’t understand. _They_ could never understand. It wasn’t enough to become stronger or meaner. It wasn’t enough to have killed the Joker, though it was satisfying. Nothing that he did or would ever do would bring back his boy.

Alfred had said something along those lines as his parting words. Probably as a word of warning, though he knew it was no good. That feeling of powerlessness, the rage...it had turned him into someone he knew even Jason wouldn’t recognize. Someone that even Alfred had fled from and Dick was afraid of.

Someone that would dig up a dead, buried child and go to unspeakable lengths to bring him back. And following the advice he had once parted to Jason himself, he put his mind to it and made it happen.

It had taken a blend of elements to get a working finish; necromancy, Lazarus waters, science and magic; but he had accomplished it, even if it had earned him the horror of others. But it didn’t matter. He loved _it_.

He supposed the thought had crossed his mind at some point; the fact of other Jasons’ living across the multiverse; but he always focused on his own. Then he saw him. Hanging from the side of a building and gripping onto a flickering neon sign with one hand, the other pressed into his side tightly as he held a knife sticking into his side from moving before his grip loosened and he fell with a sickening sound of impact into the alley below.

A sharp intake of breath was heard, which wasn't from Jason, who was lying motionless across from another already dead figure dressed in what appeared to be a League assassin uniform.

And then the feeling came back with a choking laugh rising from within him:_ It wasn't enough._

*

Jason's abdominal muscles ache with how hard he's laughing, his breaths coming in wheezing and sharp from his damaged lungs and bruised ribs as tears gather in the corners of his eyes until he cuts off suddenly, face turning blank as he tilts his head to the side and up at the not-Bruce.

"You really are a _joke_." He gives a harsh spat. "I always knew you were fucked up in the head but I thought when it came to _us_ it might have something to do with me dying, or not _staying_ dead, or trying to kill y—"

Not-Bruce laughs. All bright and unaffected, and far too damn cheerful for the grinning psycho he is, as this Bruce tells him with a thin smile in his voice, matching perfectly with that look that's in the back of his eyes. “I am 'fucked-up' in the head. But I did it for you. Both of _you_.” As if it's a righteous declaration that absolves everything while still kneeling over him with Jason glaring up at him while on his back.

Almost as if agreeing, though as to which part was the question, the not-Jason robin giggles in short bursts from where he's climbed onto his father's back, burying his small face into Bruce's neck, earning the burnt and abused-looking child a ruffle of his curls. 

Jason’s own snarl of a reply is ripped from his throat as he lunges at Bruce, feinting left but hitting right, catching Bruce all but near off-guard with the little Jason jumping off in a hysterical cackling fit. Jason's always had the advantage of speed over the other bat clan despite his build, but that still doesn’t stop him from getting in a hit to his solar plexus that knocks the wind right out of him from not-Bruce, who follows it with an uppercut so powerful that black spots bloom across his vision, blood dribbling down the teen's chin.

"I really don't want to hurt you Jaylad, but if you try something like that again I will keep you down forcibly." His hand settles on and strokes through Jason's hair like he's something precious, and like he didn't just beat his son down, ignoring the blood Jason spat at him angrily. 

Jason's eyes shift away from him and find themselves looking at the dagger which was hit out of his hand by his alternate zombie self, laying only a few feet away. But before he could even think about taking it back, his zombie-self picks it up with two fingers, dangling it in front of his face with an almost teasing grin that didn't quite match his lifeless green eyes. It was hard to read the dead child, but everything he did appeared forced. His grins, movements, breaths...God, he didn't even want to think about what this earth's Bruce did to force this Jason back into existence. And if the two alternate selves were anything alike, he most certainly didn't want to be back in the first place. 

He wasn't going to bother feeling any more sympathy than that for the thing. No matter what this Bruce thought or tried to do, it was obvious he was still dead on this earth, moving or not. Jason wasn't sure what to think about Bruce's actions but if it was bad enough for Alfred and Dick to have assumably left him and Timmy not being able to "save" him, he wasn't about to start trying himself. The thing about having sympathy for your...adversaries...is that it's rarely returned. 

Jason’s second right hook comes in fast but Bruce's ready to block it which is what Jason wants as he throws a quick jab to Bruce’s throat, making him splutter reflexively, giving Jason time to jump up and reach for his younger not-self, grabbing at the knife before falling backwards unnaturally on his ankle with a cracking sound before a flash of light enveloped the cave. 


	7. Parading the Coffin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All's well that ends well....?

Jason hadn’t expected to wake up when he had lost consciousness. The feeling of soreness all over his body began to make itself known to him as he could only lay there, keeping his eyes closed in an attempt at keeping the room from spinning.

The mission had taken a bad turn. He wondered groggily if Talia would be displeased. ...Talia. The _Dagger_.

He shot up immediately, half lidded ocean-coloured eyes wide as he placed his hands behind his back to hold himself up as he looked around the cave, his breaths coming in shakily. 

He was still in the cave. 

Did he not manage to get away? Where was not-Bruce? No, the dagger. Where was the dagger? 

Turning his head, he blinked bewilderedly to find it in a clear sealed bag, like any other type of evidence next to the med bay cot he was lying on with his ankle in a white plaster cast.

It was completely silent in the cave except for the random sound of flapping bat wings and the repetitive drip of water coming off the stalactites. If his ears were the type that twitched, they would have at the steady _plunk, plunk, plunk_ing.

This was broken by the sound of timed footsteps approaching him, which walked in a familiar count, drew closer before the figure turned into the med bay, eyes cast down as they reviewed a chart of some sort. Lifting their gaze, both males looked surprised, albeit for different reasons.

“...Alfie—?”  
“Master Jason?”

Just then the overwhelming feeling of the time it had been since he'd seen Alfred last; before the whole fight that had taken him out of Gotham in the first place; came rushing in.

As if noticing this, as he did all things it seemed, the ageing butler set down the chart and held his grandson's hand, patting it once before smiling oddly.

"You're a great enigma as always, Master Jason. We had gotten wind that you were in Gotham again but you seemed to have disappeared into thin air for a near week before Master Bruce found you unconscious in an alleyway."

And there Jason's fond mood vanished.

"Bruce found me." He didn't even phrase it in a question but mistrust was practically dripping off it. Even if it was his Bruce, he needed out of this city now.

He felt an itch at the back of his neck and up his legs as he swung his legs over the side and lifted his pant legs to see that his scratches had started to close up and form thin scabs. 

Was it really just a couple days? Quickly pushing the material back down, he looked back up at Alfred who seemed to be very old and tired all of a sudden. But then, as if apologising for his expression, the elderly butler moved his hands from Jason's to clasp them together in front of him.

“Forgive me, my dear boy. I— it’s hard to look at you and all I can see is anger and pain. I feel as though I've failed you and there’s nothing I can do to ease your mind.”

“There probably isn’t." Jason gave a soft scoff, though not unkindly. "You didn’t fail me, though. You did everything you could and that’s enough. It'd be easier for you if you just accepted me as a lost cause." 

A comfortable silence settled between them.

“How is he?” A voice entered upon them, making Jason’s mood change completely from it’s softening as he recoiled in disgust upon seeing the black and grey uniform of his <strike>once</strike> father. 

“Hrn. Awake then.” 

There was no concern or gratitude felt in seeing the man he once called a son and partner awake and relatively uninjured, it seemed. Only a cold stare and clenched fists.

“I had best be taking Master Jason upstairs.” Alfred broke the tension with his know-better scolding. “The wet cold of the cave is no place for recuperation.”

This is something Bruce hears and Batman ignores.

Having Jason lean some of his weight onto his shoulder, the butler helped him up the winding stone stairs, the tapping of Jason’s singular crutch hobbling along. 

Batman pushed back his cowl as he sat down in the chair before the high-tech computers and typed in his conclusion to the patrol report he had come down to do in the first place, the pressure of digits upon the keys making for more steady jabs than they were light clicks. 

There was an eerily unreadable look on his face, lips pressed into a straight line and eyes intensely focused on the screens before him before the vigilante settled back into the armrests with an unexplained smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

Something seems to shake within him, up his spine and rising through his chest before the strangest sound came from within him — _a laugh that sounded disturbingly like a shriek. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho, ho, ho. The End.


End file.
